by JC Kane
“Thanks for the advice, but so far retirement has been pretty nice.”
Francisco walked closer to Bruce. “You know what happens to people that retire? They die shortly after retirement. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”
Green raised his gun again and pointed it at Francisco’s head. “Let me give you a quick lesson in manners. It’s rude to walk into another man’s castle and threaten to kill him. And it’s just plain stupid when you have a gun pointed at your head. Show some fucking respect.”
Francisco raised his hands in the air and laughed. “You guys are so tense. So uptight. I’m just saying that retirement is highly overrated. If you don’t want to accept the facts, so be it.”
“Thanks for your concern,” Bruce said. “You seem like a very caring person but you don’t have to worry about me,” Bruce said. “I still have plenty of things to keep me occupied - you know, like solving annoying problems that just won’t go away.”
“That’s good,” Francisco said. “That’s good because I think Lee is gonna need your help. We have big plans together and I’d like to see you around to support him. All of you will be held accountable if things don’t go as planned.”
“We have nothing to do with Lee anymore,” Bruce said. “I suggest you talk to him again because I doubt he’s interested in this new deal with you now that we’ve gone our separate ways. Talk to him today and he’ll probably tell you that he has no interest anymore.”
“It’s too late for that now.” Francisco walked away and got in his car.
Chapter 21
Cooper sat at the conference table across from Bruce in the San Francisco offices of Cooper & McGill.
“Why would he come to you?” Bruce asked.
“This is what Lee told me - you were retiring and he wanted me to take your spot. He asked me if I wanted to do the legal work for his drug business. All of it.”
Bruce shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t even know that Lee and Jesus would remember you, let alone show up at your office and ask you something like that. I had no idea, otherwise, I would’ve given you a heads up.”
“What’s going on?” Cooper asked. “Why are they suddenly in need of a lawyer?”
“Lee and I have been partners for a long time, but I just got tired of it. I didn’t want to be a criminal anymore. Always looking over my shoulder. Waiting for the police to kick in my front door. Waiting to get gunned down by some cartel hitman. I didn’t want any of it anymore and so I told him I was done, and that was it.”
“You told him this recently?”
Bruce laughed. “I had been thinking about it for maybe two or three years. But, I didn’t want to let Lee down. He was my best friend. The money was great. I knew he didn’t want things to end, so I sucked it up and kept working. I started planting the idea a couple years ago that we should just shut it all down. Take our millions and get out. He told me to beef up security and get better technology for our people. That would help keep us out of jail and protect us from our competition, according to Lee. So I went crazy on the security at our houses and business, and I bought mobile phones for everyone in our organization so we could track them. Everyone had to use codes for our deals, all phone calls were encrypted. We did everything we could with security and technology, but you know as well as I do, it’s the people you have to worry about, not the technology. No matter what precautions you take, when someone wants to talk to the police, there’s nothing you can do about it. The bottom line is there is always a very high risk of getting caught. As long as you are buying and selling illegal substances, and trying to hide millions of dollars in cash, there is a very good chance you will end up in jail, or murdered. That’s just the nature of the business.”
“You’ve been trying to get out for two years?” Cooper asked.
Bruce nodded. “For two years, I’ve been trying to convince myself that I don’t owe my entire life to Lee.”
“There are limits to loyalty,” Cooper said. “No matter what he did for you in the past, it doesn’t justify the way he’s trying to manipulate you now. A true friend would support you if something is in your best interest. Clearly, getting out of the drug business would be in your best interest.”
“I even created Oceanic Bakery so Lee and I could have more control over distribution and we could use the business to launder more money. Then, just like that, the business took off and started making money after only two years. We have eight different stores now.”
“I do love the Oceanic Bakery sourdough bread.” Cooper smiled just thinking about it. “That’s not closing down, is it?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it yet. It’s the Himalayan sea salt that makes the bread so good.”
“So, after two years of trying to convince yourself that leaving is the right thing to do, you finally decided enough is enough?”
“I did.” Bruce pointed at Cooper. “Listen to me, do not get involved with Lee. Do not do anything for him. No more legal work. Don’t take any referrals if they come from him. He will manipulate you, use you, and trap you. Just tell him you have a full caseload and you can’t take anything else.”
“If he’s so evil, then why did you work with him for so long?”
Bruce shook his head. “I’m too damn loyal.”
Chapter 22
“Is this really necessary?” Lee asked. “I’m not very good with directions even when I can see what’s going on.” The man pointed a gun at Lee and yelled something in Spanish.
Lee shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know what you just said.”
Francisco Carbajal grabbed the bag out of the man’s hand and handed it to Lee. “It’s necessary. This is how we operate. Get in the back and put the bag over your head.”
They were at the Hyatt Regency Santa Clara. Francisco’s boss wanted to meet Lee. Everyone in the drug world knew Francisco’s boss. His real name was Diego Tomas Valdez Molina, but he was known by his nickname - El Cazador de Cabeza. In English, it translated to The Head Hunter, or simply The Hunter, for short.
Lee’s mind wandered as he bounced around in the backseat with a cotton bag over his head. He imagined where they were, driving deep into the Santa Cruz Mountains, or maybe out towards the Diablo Valley, but really he had no idea. They could’ve been driving in circles for all he knew. He didn’t care either way. He just wanted to get on with it. Lee peeked at his watch as he adjusted his mask. They had only been driving for forty minutes, even though it seemed like it had been several hours.
The SUV came to a stop and someone shouted at the driver in Spanish. A few seconds later, Lee heard something squeaking outside that sounded like a gate opening. The SUV moved forward and Lee hoped that they had finally arrived at their destination.
The SUV stopped again after driving for about ten seconds. The driver threw it into park and turned off the engine. Francisco opened the back door and pulled Lee out of the SUV. Another guy snatched the bag off Lee’s head and threw it in the backseat. Lee could finally see again, although it took a little while for his eyes to adjust to the light.
Lee turned around and saw the massive iron gate at the end of the long driveway. For some reason, he was really proud of himself for guessing the iron gate noise correctly, purely based on the sound. It was a sprawling estate with tall trees and a wrought iron fence surrounding the property. He couldn’t see very much but he made reasonable assumptions based on what he could see, including the anxious men with machine guns, positioned strategically around the property.
Francisco directed Lee towards the front door. Lee couldn’t stop thinking about one thing - he hoped they served whiskey.
Francisco escorted Lee into the house. A skinny Mexican man entered the great room. He was wearing a colorful Hawaiian shirt and blue cargo shorts. “Welcome to my home. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Diego Tomas Valdez Molina.” Diego shook hands with Lee and dismissed Francisco and the security guards.
“It’s a pleasure to meet
you Mr. Molina,” Lee said. “My name is Leonardo Giordano.”
“Please call me Diego. Can I get you anything to drink Mr. Giordano?”
Lee smiled. “A whiskey would be great. And you can call me Lee.”
Diego raised his hand and a woman showed up within five seconds with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on a tray. She set the tray down on a nearby table and poured two glasses of whiskey.
“Thank you very much.” Lee chugged the drink and poured himself another glass.
“I apologize for the harsh treatment but in our business it is necessary. Even though I’ve heard some good things about you and Jesus Acosta, I still don’t know you and so I have to take the necessary precautions. You let your guard down for a second and that’s when you lose.”
“Well, I’m glad we’re meeting in person. It’s nice to meet face to face and I hope this leads to a very prosperous relationship, for both of us.”
“Do you know who I am, Mr. Giordano?”
“I do.” Lee knew El Cazador’s reputation very well. Everyone knew of El Cazador, even though few people actually knew him. He was one of the highest ranking members in the Sinaloa drug cartel. He was at the top of the Most Wanted lists in Mexico and the United States. Of course, most people didn’t call him by his given name, Diego Tomas Valdez Molina. Most people knew him as “The Head Hunter.”
El Cazador wasn’t the only drug dealer in Mexico that was known for chopping off his victim’s heads, but he was the only one that was known to collect his victim’s heads. Some of the stories claimed that El Cazador had a thousand skulls lining the walls of his home. Other rumors suggested he preserved the heads and shrunk them like the tribes in the Amazon rainforest. No one knew for sure which stories were true and which weren’t, but the stories cemented his reputation as one of the most feared drug lords in the business.
“Do you know what they call me?” El Cazador asked.
“El Cazador de Cabeza,” Lee said. “The Head Hunter.”
“Do you know why they call me El Cazador de Cabeza?”
“I’ve heard stories.”
“What stories did you hear?”
“They call you The Head Hunter because you like to chop off your enemies’ heads and keep them in your own personal collection.”
El Cazador laughed and nodded in amusement. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”
El Cazador and Lee walked outside to the backyard. There was a massive courtyard with tables, fountains, statues, plants, and trees. It was exquisite. But Lee couldn’t take his eyes off of something at the far end of the large fountain and pool.
El Cazador signaled to Lee. “Come this way.” El Cazador walked towards the end of the fountain and Lee followed him. At the end of the pool, El Cazador stopped and smiled as he admired one of his most prized possessions.
Lee gawked at the fifteen-foot high guillotine. There was a wooden crate in front of the guillotine that was designed to catch the head after it was severed from the body. There was a wooden bench on the other side of the guillotine where the person’s body would be placed.
“This is an original guillotine from the early nineteenth century,” El Cazador said. He rubbed a wooden beam like a proud father. “It came directly from a collector in Olivet, France, and it was actually used for public beheadings before it was given to a local business owner as a gift. I had it completely restored by a master craftsman, and it is one hundred percent fully functional.”
“Wow,” Lee said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“This is also the original bucket that was used with this device.” El Cazador pointed to the wooden bucket in front of the guillotine. “It is very difficult to find a guillotine this old, with the original bucket.”
Lee looked at the bucket and noticed the stains and variations of colors. He wondered how many heads had been in that bucket and, of more concern to Lee, when was the last time a severed head had landed in that wooden bucket. “It’s amazing that you have such a unique piece of history here at your home.”
“Most people look at this and think that it’s a wicked instrument of death. They call me The Head Hunter simply because I appreciate history. The guillotine was put into practice precisely because it was a very humane method of execution. It takes a fraction of a second, it results in instant death, and there are no mistakes. No suffering. No pain. Just instant death. Before the guillotine, there was so much torture, suffering, brutality, and inconsistency. The French truly perfected the execution process. A proficient executioner could process two dozen men in less than thirty minutes.” El Cazador pulled a lever on the device and the blade came crashing down. He grabbed the rope, pulled and lifted the blade to the top of the crossbar, then locked it in place.
“I have made one modification to this machine. Let me show you.” El Cazador pointed to a small piece of wood on the post. “Do you see this piece of wood here? If I push this piece out and I do the same on the other post, it prevents the blade from sliding all the way down. It completely stops the blade four inches from the lethal point of impact.”
Lee nodded.
“Do you see that the pieces are extended?”
“Yeah, I see that,” Lee said.
El Cazador raised the top lunette, the wooden piece that secures the head during an execution. “Now, I will ask you to lie down on the bench and place your neck in the lunette.”
Lee laughed. “No thanks. I’m good.”
“Mr. Giordano, you want to do business with me and I have learned over the years that it is impossible to have an effective business relationship without trust. Trust is essential. This is a simple demonstration that will prove to you that you can trust me. Then, we can move forward with our relationship.”
“You know, in America, we do this thing where I fall back and you catch me. That’s how we establish trust. Maybe we should try that instead.”
El Cazador smiled. “The level of trust necessary is in direct proportion to the severity of the consequences if there is a breach of trust. In our business, that means death or a very long prison sentence — both very severe consequences. That calls for something greater than falling backward into my arms.”
“I see.” Lee looked at the blade. It looked old. It looked heavy. It looked sharp. He imagined the blade slicing through the back of his neck. He imagined his head falling into the wooden basket and looking up at the sky in his last moments of consciousness.
“Mr. Giordano, are you interested in making a deal or not?”
Lee took a deep breath. He stepped towards the machine and straddled the wooden bench. His heart started pounding faster and faster. He could feel his heart trying to escape from his chest. Lee put his head into the opening and El Cazador lowered the lunette and locked Lee’s head in place. Lee’s instincts kicked in and he panicked. He tried to pull his head out as he wiggled around. It was pointless, he couldn’t escape the machine.
“Relax, relax. Stay still, and keep your hands down by your side. I wouldn’t want you to lose any fingers.”
Lee closed his eyes and tried to control his rapid breathing. Breathe deep. Breathe slow.
“Are you ready?” El Cazador asked.
Lee didn’t respond. He was trying hard to stay focused on his breathing.
“I will release the blade on three, okay? One. Two. Do you have anything you’d like to say before I release the blade?” El Cazador took great pleasure in the dramatic theatrics of his twisted game.
Lee continued to focus on his breathing.
“Nothing to say? Okay. Three.” El Cazador pulled the lever and released the blade. It slid down and stopped abruptly as it hit the wooden safeties. It stopped exactly where El Cazador said it would, four inches from Lee’s neck.
“Ah, beautiful. It worked perfectly.” El Cazador loved his prized possession and his enthusiasm was apparent. He raised the blade to the top and secured it into place. He unlocked the lever for the lunette and raised it so Lee could free himself. Lee was swea
ting profusely, breathing heavy, and his heart rate was off the charts.
“See, nothing to worry about,” El Cazador said. “But, the important thing is that now you know you can trust me one hundred percent.”
Lee stood up and rubbed his neck. “Yeah, that was fun. Now it’s your turn, right?”
El Cazador laughed. “No, I have proven to you that you can trust me, but I have something else in mind to prove that I can trust you. I have information regarding a large shipment of cocaine that will be delivered in San Diego in two days. Francisco will give you the details. I want you to intercept the shipment and deliver half of the product to my people and you keep the other half.”
“Intercept?”
“The drugs being shipped happen to belong to a competitor. If you intercept the shipment and deliver half of the product to my people, then that shows me that you have the resources, the manpower, and the necessary strategic intelligence to execute a difficult mission. If you can pull this off, then I know I can trust you and I will agree to supply you with whatever you need to expand your business. Cocaine, meth, heroin, or any other product you desire.”
“You’re asking me to rip off your competitor? This product wouldn’t happen to belong to Los Zetas cartel, would it?”
“I’m asking you to prove that I can trust you. I want you to show me that you are a true professional and that I can rely on you. This task is in direct proportion to the consequences if there is a breach of trust. Do you understand? If I ask you to do something easy, that doesn’t demonstrate trust on the level that I need to trust you. This is why I ask you to do something very challenging.”
“If I do this, you supply me with everything I need?”
El Cazador nodded. “That’s right. Now come, let’s eat.”
Chapter 23
